


Sculpted by the Sculptor

by Arsenic



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Jason has some pretty serious scars.  Dick just sees Jason.





	Sculpted by the Sculptor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenafics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenafics/gifts).



> Hey treatee, this is just a little thing, but I loved your prompt, so I hope you enjoy. Unbeta'ed, because of its treat nature.

The first time Jason and Dick have sex, neither of them gets as far as getting their clothes off. It's too frantic and desperate for that. The second time they are—of course, because Gotham—stuck in a mineshaft and Dick initiates kissing more as way to keep Jason from losing his everloving mind at being in a dark, enclosed space than because it's really the time or place.

The third time, though, Dick drops by Jason's apartment with a box of apple and cherry piroshki from the bakery on the first floor of Jason's building and says, "I thought we could go on a date."

"Um." It's ten in the morning. Jason is still in his pajamas. 

"Well, I mean, I thought we could eat this box of deliciousness together, and watch something on streaming, and be in each other's presence without mortal danger for a bit."

Jason steps back. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

They make it through most of the box and about half an episode of American Chopper when Dick kisses Jason, partly to get him to stop complaining about all the ways he'd do things differently, and partly because Jason's competence with bikes does it for Dick. Much like just about everything about Jason.

Jason pulls him in and between kisses pants out, "My. Bedroom."

Yeah, sure, Dick was trying to be a gentleman here, anyway, with the baked goods and the date idea. Sex actually involving a bed sounds right in line with that.

Jason's bedroom is light-filled in the mid-day, sporting floor-to-ceiling windows covered in sheer curtains that are not blocking much of the sun. When Jason tugs Dick inside and starts to undress, jerking his shirt over his head, Dick catches sight of the autopsy scar bisecting Jason's chest and is too startled not to blink.

Jason stills. And then, because he's Jason, goes on the offensive. "What, your skin is fucking pristine? Like every other vigilante's?"

"Jay," Dick barks the word, because if he lets Jason get going, Jason can and will build up some serious momentum. The sharpness of Dick's tone is enough to startle Jason into taking a breath and Dick rushes to say, "I just didn't realize—I think I thought the Pit would have—" He shakes his head, not sure how to explain. There are scars and then there's that scar. 

Jason's eyes narrow. "Wouldn't have taken you for squeamish." He backs up, putting space between himself and Dick. "Whatever."

Dick has learned a few of Jason's tells. Not all of them, not nearly, but he knows when Jason feels small, feels like he's somehow less. All of the confident ease he normally has transforms itself into hard lines of aggression. Dick says, "Will you—let me do something, all right?"

Jason's face is a blank mask. After a moment, he shrugs. Dick moves back into Jason's space. He thumbs at a divot in Jason's shoulder, something that might have been left by a crowbar being brought down over and over onto a fifteen year old, or could have been a hard-learned lesson imparted by a member of the League, or even a bullet wound. It doesn't matter. It's a part of Jason, something that he has lived through, perhaps even died from, and forcibly crawled his way back to the world and to Dick despite that.

Dick sucks on it, spending his time with it. He murmurs, "You're fucking gorgeous. You could have scars up to your eyeballs and I'd still feel that way."

"Dick," Jason says, tone warring between the safety of anger and the vulnerability of acceptance.

Dick just moves onto another one, this one a line, probably from a knife, over the meat of Jason's bicep. Dick says, "Gorgeous," again, as he does after lavishing the next one with attention, and the next one.

He gets Jason naked, working his way down Jason's body. At a certain point they zig-zag their way to Jason's bed. Dick covers every inch of Jason's body before returning to the autopsy scar.

Quietly, Jason says, "It's a lot."

Dick says, "It's you. I wish, for your sake, you didn't have the reminder. But it just reminds me of how unbelievably lucky I am to have you now, here."

He kisses his way up the scar, then, up and up to Jason's mouth. Jason pulls him in, flipping them so he's on top. Dick grins and asks, "Have I mentioned that you're hot as fuck when you're using your size to your advantage?"

Jason mouths at his neck. "That the only time?"

"That and whenever you're breathing. Only two times."

"Guess I'll just have to keep doing that breathing thing, then."

Dick buries his hands in Jason's hair and tugs so that Jason will look at him. "You'd better."

Jason doesn't make promises, but the kiss he gives Dick feels, maybe, like the beginning of one.


End file.
